


melt your headaches

by JaguarCello



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Bisexual Harry Potter, Drunkeness, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Muggle London, Post Hogwarts AU, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 15:56:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3984028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaguarCello/pseuds/JaguarCello
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is drunk, and alone, and it might start snowing at any minute.<br/>An old enemy happens by. Harry's life is an absolute joke, and Draco Malfoy is as posh and sarcastic as ever.</p>
            </blockquote>





	melt your headaches

**Author's Note:**

> Draco Malfoy is still a wanker, Harry is fairly unsurprised to note.
> 
> This is for [Mia](https://twitter.com/brotticelli)

 

Harry is drunk, drunk enough that the world is spinning like he’s just got off a fairground ride, and the pavement is cold. He is sat in a patch of ice, and he can see his breath, and the lights of the cabs are blurry. He might be crying, actually, and when he puts a hand to his face it comes away wet and bloody. There might have been a fight, he thinks, and he is just inspecting his knuckles when a shadow falls over him. He looks up.

“Bloody _hell_ , Potter,” says Draco Malfoy, hair gleaming in the street-lamp lights. He is swaying, and his cheeks are flushed. “What on earth are you –“

“Malfoy,” he manages, and laughs.

Malfoy looks at him. “You’re wearing a t-shirt, in November. Nobody could ever have accused you of having any kind of sartorial elegance, but this is a tad ridiculous,” he says, tucking his scarf more firmly about his neck. “I’m concerned that if I ask, you’ll think I _care_ why you’re drunk and crying in muggle London, but – “

Harry thinks for a second. There is blood in his mouth. “I had a fight,” he says.

“Ah,” Malfoy replies, taking a packet of Marlborough Golds from his pocket. “Glory-seeking Gryffindor still then?”

Harry is too busy watching the way Malfoy’s fingers flex as he lights the cigarette to reply, until he realises he is staring. “It was – a girl was sad, because of her boyfriend, and I was sad because of mine, so I hugged her. But then her boyfriend, who seemed to still be in the club despite their breakup, punched me. And I punched him back, and then I got kicked out, and I don’t – “

“Alright,” Malfoy says. “Boyfriend? Right, but you – who did you come here with?”

“Jess and her friends. Ben? Maybe? Muggles, anyway,” Harry says, digging in his pocket for his wand. Malfoy snatches it from him, and puts it in his own pocket. Harry blinks, twice. “Oi, I need – “

“As much fun as interrupting you is, and how I hate to break habits,” Malfoy tells him, exhaling, “you’re in no shape to be using it. Where are they?”

“Home,” Harry says, glumly. He scrubs at his face, aware that he’s crying again. Malfoy pulls out a handerchief – cotton, and Harry snorts at that – and passes it to him.

“Without you?”

Harry looks around him. There is a homeless man sat at the other end of the street. Harry gave him all his taxi fare home –

“Potter,” Malfoy says, and he sounds bored.

“I – I told them to, I wanted to – “

“You wanted a shag,” Malfoy says, slowly. “A shag with a bloke, because of course you’re gay. Bloody hell,” and he laughs to himself. Harry looks at him, and feels that old flash of hatred, and a newer, sharper tinge of interest.

“You don’t have a problem with that, do you? I mean, you Slytherins are hardly the most tolerant of people, and – “

“I’m bent too, Potter. Pansy was very kind about it, but in sixth year we were fooling around on the lawns – “

“It’s fucking _grass_ , this isn’t your Wiltshire mansion – but sorry, do go on,” Harry says, and he feels a little sick. Malfoy flicks the ash from the end of his cigarette, takes another drag. Harry watches him.

“Pansy said: _Malfoy, darling, you’re queer_. I mean, of course I _knew_ , but – why am I telling _you_ this? That Grey Goose got to me, it seems – and that was that. She agreed to carry on the pretence, for the sake of my inheritance, but then it’s all gone now.” For a second, Malfoy looks a thousand years old, and very sad. He sits – and Harry flinches when he does – down on the pavement, and looks slightly bemused.

“You look like a confused owl,” Harry tells him. “I’m bi, technically. Ginny was lovely about it all, but, well. I was talking to Charlie – he’s asexual, happy with his dragons – about the whole thing and she overheard.”

“Shall we go somewhere a little warmer?” Malfoy suggests, flicking away the butt of his cigarette. “It’s fucking freezing, and this coat was just under a grand,” and Harry laughs.

“No taxi fare,” and he empties his jeans pockets to prove it. Malfoy watches him like a hawk watches a mouse, seconds before it strikes.

“I’ll pay. You can sleep in the spare room – “

“Oh, of course, you have a fucking _spare room_ in central London – I bet it’s bloody Chelsea, isn’t it? You live in Chelsea. We hate each other. What – “ Harry stops, and digs his cigarettes out his coat pocket. He rummages for his lighter, but he can’t find it. Malfoy is still watching him, and he leans forwards to light Harry’s cigarette for him.

“You’re drunk,” Harry says, in wonder. “I didn’t know Draco Malfoy got drunk – what would your father say?”

Malfoy grimaces, slightly, and an eye twitches. “Since the war, I – bad dreams,” he admits, quietly.

Harry looks at him through his eyelashes. “Dreamless Sleep is addictive,” he says, and then laughs. It is too loud for the street, quieter now. The first light of dawn is beginning to brighten the skyline.

“You can sleep in the spare room,” Malfoy tells him again, and stands up, swaying more than ever. “This is a one-time thing. If word got out that I was _nice_ to my mortal enemy – “

“We’re twenty-three,” Harry points out. “I’m not sure we have mortal enemies, these days.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. Harry wants to kiss his neck, but that thought is stopped when Malfoy pulls him up. He is pleased to note that he is an inch or so taller than Malfoy, and he nods towards the road. It has started to snow, soft flakes almost the same colour as Malfoy's hair. “I suppose we’d better get a cab –“

“Potter,” Malfoy says, and Harry is reminded of all their feuds and duels and desperate, scrappy fights. “We’re fucking wizards,” and Harry nods, drunkenly. He wobbles a bit.

“Side-along it is, then,” Malfoy sighs, and offers Harry his arm. Harry looks at it dumbly, and Malfoy laughs. “Scared, Potter?”

Harry looks at him, grey eyes bright and cheekbones as sharp as his suit. “You wish,” he says, and they vanish.

**Author's Note:**

> Being an adult is hard.  
> This will be multi-chaptered, probably, if I remember. It's also - if continued - going to deal with some aspects of mental illness, but if so it will be properly tagged.  
> (The muggle friends mentioned are throwaway names so far; I didn't want any of Harry's friends to leave him in that state!)


End file.
